Dear Loyal readers, (All 45 of you. BTW if you’re following without officially following, please sign up. My ego could use a boost.)
Good health care for a mentally ill patient is elusive. (Busting out the SAT words today. Some of my daughter’s friends might be reading.) I am scared of my psychiatrist. Thankfully, I only see him twice a year. He has provided excellent care unlike my previous three. I view my counselor as my bar stool buddy. She is one of my favorite people in the whole world and is also a fantastic provider. It only took me five others to find her.
This depression does not follow my usual cycle. As far as I can remember, I have not been this sick in May or June. Something has changed. As a responsible crazy person, I saw my counselor immediately, took steps to keep me safe, called my psychiatrist (he actually returned my call), made the appointment with a primary care provider as he asked, and then attended said appointment.
Easy, right? WRONG. Couldn’t see the shrink until Aug.12, my previously scheduled, six month appointment because he was booked solid. Apparently, there are lots of crazies out there. A whole wasteland of us. Waitlisted. Bonus: he returned my call. Nightmare: he won’t make any changes without a thyroid panel, hormone panel, and vitamin panel. All of which require blood work. My counselor is now on vacation. Can’t fault her for having a life outside of mine. Primary Care Provider (PCP): couldn’t get in until June 10th. Waitlisted. So…I’m in crisis and can’t get help that is immediately needed unless I check myself into the mental facility called The Pavilion. (See yesterday’s post.) The doctors and counselors there do not work with mine because that would make sense. The hospital will immediately start tinkering with the medication formula that has for the most part kept me stable for years.
Despite all this, I did get into the PCP yesterday. How? When the receptionist said June 10th, I laughed, cried, and then said something including: psychiatrist, bipolar, major depressed episode. Boom. Got an appointment for the next day. Lesson learned: cry more.
Fast forward to yesterday’s appointment. Start crying in the waiting room. Get my shit together. Charge nurse calls me back for vitals and asks simple question: why are you here today? Lose my shit again. She hurries me back to the exam room where I will see Moron, Certified Nurse Practitioner. (I have had good CNPs. Not all of them are this horrible. I know a CNP who is excellent at her professional only it’s in the wrong field of medicine for me.) And so the following conversation ensues. I’m not making this shit up. It’s not hyperbole or based on a true story. It’s the just plain crazy real life story.
Moron (enters wearing a surgical mask like I have measles or Ebola): How are you today? I haven’t seen you since your knee pre-op in January 2018. How did that go?
JPC Jen: Fine. Knee is good. Full recovery.
Moron: So just a scope of the meniscus? (as she reads the chart in front of her)
JPC Jen: No. Complete ACL and Meniscus repair.
Moron: But with a scope, right?
JPC: Sure. (I have NoF-ingClue. I am not an orthopedic surgeon, and I was knocked out for it.)
Moron (Pointing to the different emoji faces on the board behind her): On the face scale, on a scale of 1-10, what’s your pain level?
JPC: You mean physical? Or mental? (You want me to pick a face or a number?)
JPC Jen: 0 (Mental 110. I’m off the charts, bitch, but can’t tell you that because you’ll call the paddy wagon.)
Moron: So what are you here for?
JPC (Crying…again): I’m bipolar and in a major depressed episode. My psychiatrist wants blood work and won’t make changes until he has it.
Moron: So what are you saying?
JPC: Order me a thyroid panel, a hormone panel, and a vitamin panel.
Moron (yelling from behind her mask): I can’t just do that. I can’t do blood work and then send you away without management?
JPC Jen: Well how do I get that? (I hate your guts, you stupid bitch.)
Moron: You have to declare me your PCP. You had Dr. X, but she left. You don’t have anyone now. You have to declare me your PCP so I can do the workup.
JPC Jen: I thought you were my PCP since you did my complete pre-op physical.
Moron: No. You have to declare it.
JPC Jen: Fine. I declare you my PCP. How do I do that? Go back out front?
Moron: No I can do it now. I have a serious of questions I need to ask to get to know you before we progress.
JPC Jen: (Seriously? Read the damn chart.) I don’t even know what you are. DR? PA? CNP?
Moron: CNP. They have you down for acute care, but you need a full physical?
JPC Jen: That’s because to get a physical would have been much longer wait than June 10th.
Moron: I have plenty of openings you could have said and I would have gotten you in.
JPC Jen: Oh. (I know why you have plenty of openings.)
Moron: Do you work?
JPC: I’m a part-time soccer coach, but we are on hiatus for the summer.
Moron (Still hasn’t removed the mask): Oh that could be why. You were very busy before and now you’re not. It’s a let down. How else do you fill your time?
JPC: I’m a stay at home mom, a mentor, and a food pantry volunteer.
Moron (This is the honest truth): Oh I could NEVER be a stay at home mom. It would drive me CRAZY. I need to work. I’ll probably work until I die.
JPC: silence. (I fucking HATE you. Shoot me now.)
Moron: Married? Children?
JPC: Married. One child. She’s 15.
Moron: Oh that’s why. (Eye roll) Teenagers are tough.
JPC: Mine’s a great kid.
Moron: OH that’s good. Sometimes teenagers leave the planet.
JPC: Silence. (What in the hell are you talking about, crazy bitch.)
Moron: Anything else going on?
JPC: Nope. Just the same old shit. Every day is ground hog day.
Moron (Still in mask): Tell me about it. Sometimes the merry-go-round just goes around and around and I’m just like stop I want to get off. (See yesterday’s post about merry-go-rounds.)
JPC: Silence. (Bitch, are you for real? I literally want off the ride. Off the ride means dead. How stupid are you? I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.)
Moron: I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs now.
JPC: Silence. (I’m not here for that.)
Moron: Well that’s a strong rhythm. Lungs clear.
JPC: (Duh). I’m the healthiest person you’ll meet. Just order the blood work. That, too, will come back normal. My brain is the issue.
Moron: Well. Some people have diabetes, and you can’t see that. Some people have high blood pressure, and you can’t see that. And some people have mental illness, and you can’t see that. There’s ups and downs… (continues to ramble)
JPC: (while rambling continues: diabetics wear bracelets and have glucose testing. High blood pressure is can be measured with a cuff. I’m crying for no reason. Can you not see that? I’m never coming back.)
I have an appointment for next Tuesday to have her “read me my blood work results.” I will demand it before then and have my world famous surgeon friend read it before I take it to my psychiatrist next Monday. Thank you to the crazy who canceled Monday at @ 2.
Just plain crazy. BTW. She screwed up the blood work. She had one job. Moron. Oh and she was an ARNP. Whatever that is.